


Oath

by Cyhyr



Series: SylvixWeek2020 [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Broken Promises, Felix Gets Violent, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Near Death Experiences, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyhyr/pseuds/Cyhyr
Summary: Felix is garbage at keeping promises.Turns out he's only garbage at keeping one-sided promises.3 promises Felix breaks and 1 (more) promise Felix keepsWritten for SylvixWeek2020 Day 5: Promises
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: SylvixWeek2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934302
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Oath

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Whump ;)

Once they reached the top of Conand tower, Sylvain abandoned all pretenses of acting with the class and began sprinting ahead. He’d gotten around the second bend and out of sight before Felix realized that the professor wasn’t concerned with Sylvain’s decision. One of Miklan’s thugs charged him; Felix’s sword stopped him in his tracks and put him on the ground, bloody and choking. He stabbed his sword through the bandit’s eye, and flicked the blood off of his blade when the man had ceased twitching.

Felix glanced back at the professor, who was ordering a slow advance while on the lookout for ambushes. Sylvain was still too far ahead. He snarled, said, “I’m going to catch up to Sylvain,” and then began to run.

Maybe Annette or the Boar called for him to stop. Even if the professor themself had, though, he wouldn’t. _Couldn’t_.

He’d made Sylvain a promise. After one too many “falls”; after the well; after realizing why Sylvain didn’t want to return to Gautier after winters fostering with the Fraldarius family; after an attempt on Sylvain’s life happened to coincide with the Margrave and Margravine—and more importantly, Miklan—visiting. Felix had promised Sylvain that Miklan couldn’t hurt him anymore. That by being disowned and banished from all of Northern Faerghus, Miklan would no longer be a threat.

Felix cut through every enemy that stood in his way, dodged every arrow they shot. He no longer paused to clean his blade after a kill; he kept moving. He’d been wrong. He’d been a _child_. A fool; to think that law and banishment would keep Miklan’s hatred and spittle from souring Sylvain’s life.

He turned the last corner, saw a trio of archers drawn and sighted at him. He dove and rolled behind a slab of stone as they loosed their arrows. One of them nearly buried into his calf; instead, his trousers now had a neat slice from the arrowhead. Felix kept moving, pushing himself to his feet and closing the gap.

The first archer was lucky. He’d been slightly bent over, cowering. It put his head at the perfect height for a beheading. The second wasn’t as lucky. She saw the blood rush from her decapitated fellow and began to gag. Felix ended her with a slash across her throat, blood pooling at her feet and mixing with the vomit she’d expelled before her death.

The third one ran. Felix let him. He’d soon meet the professor and they’d deal with him.

Sylvain’s cries turned his focus back to the top room of the tower. Felix reset his grip, grit his teeth, and charged up the stairs.

(After this, he’ll thank the professor for running drills until he’d nearly collapsed those few times.)

He didn’t falter, didn’t stop; and ignored his panicking heart as Miklan disarmed Sylvain and sent his lance scattering away. Miklan kicked Sylvain’s knees out; the crack echoed between Felix’s ears while Sylvain’s scream echoed in the tower. He then slammed his shield against Sylvain’s face, casting him bonelessly aside and smearing the field red with blood. Miklan raised the Lance of Ruin above Sylvain’s prone, groaning body, and brought it down with a snarl and a yell.

Felix intercepted, standing over Sylvain’s body and parrying the blow. He pushed back, swinging madly, gritting his teeth; keeping Miklan on defense. His sword clashed against Miklan’s shield, shocks running up and down his forearms with each strike. He didn’t let Miklan get a chance to use the Lance against him.

Until Miklan pushed forward with his shield and a growl. It forced Felix back a few steps, enough that Miklan could slide the shield off his arm and let it fall to the ground. He smirked evilly, wielded the Lance with both hands, and charged.

Felix parried. Miklan ignored the parry and kept moving, trampling over him pushing him to the ground. He stomped on his wrist; kicked his jaw, his ribs—something _snapped_. Felix crawled away, got to a knee; cradled his wrist in his other hand and spat blood onto the stone.

“Fe, get outta here,” Sylvain pleaded.

Felix looked up at Miklan, stalking closer to him. His sword was out of reach, kicked away when he’d fallen. “I’ll kill you,” he said through bloody, gritted teeth. “I swear upon the Blue Sea Star; you put another hand on him and I’ll kill you.”

Miklan had the audacity to _laugh._ “You always were a dramatic little shit.” He poised the Lance to strike, bared his teeth—uneven, yellow, missing—and said, “I’d like to see you try.” Turning, Miklan crossed the five paces to Sylvain and brought the Lance of Ruin down.

“Sylvain—!”

…

In the end, Felix wasn’t able to deal the killing blow. But at least Miklan was no longer a threat to Sylvain.

* * *

“Edelgard’s army will reach the monastery tomorrow.”

Felix hummed. Curled closer to Sylvain, tightened his hold on Sylvain’s fingers between his own; Sylvain gently scratched at his scalp. They had spent the entire day in last minute preparations for the monastery and themselves. Now, Felix just wanted to spend what could be their last night in Sylvain’s arms. Silently.

It wasn’t meant to be. “Are you worried? Felix?”

He hummed again and closed his eyes. He wasn’t _worried_ , exactly; anxious, maybe; angry, that was a given. Felix fit his knee more securely between Sylvain’s legs, breathed a sigh against his collar. Sylvain smelled unfairly good tonight.

“I am,” Sylvain murmured. Felix felt lips upon his crown, lingering; the hand in his hair stopped momentarily. “I’m worried I might lose you.”

 _Well_. “Don’t be,” Felix grumbled. “I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself.”

Sylvain chuckled. “I know, Fe. But what if we get separated? How will I find you?”

“Follow the screams of dying Imperial soldiers.”

The laugh that escaped Sylvain was boisterous and full and shook Felix where he rested; but it was also short-lived. Sylvain’s smile faded with the echo of his mirth. “Really, though. We need a meeting place.”

Felix groaned, picked himself up and braced his elbow so he could look down at Sylvain. Red strands fanned out across the pillow and his eyes were lidded with that sappy, fond look Felix had come to realize was for _him_ alone. “Sylvain…”

“Hmm?”

Goddess, he loved this man. “You… we’re not going to win the battle tomorrow.”

“Felix—”

“Quiet. It’s obvious, isn’t it? That’s why Seteth had the villagers flee instead of fortifying inside the monastery.” Felix sighed heavily, dipped down and kissed Sylvain quickly to keep him from talking. Sylvain pouted, aware of the tactic; he’s used it himself on Felix before. “Fight. Do what you can. But before the monastery is overwhelmed, gather everyone and run. They’ll follow you.”

Sylvaind whispered, “What about you?”

“I’ll do the same.”

“And where—?”

“Fraldarius. Go to Fraldarius. My father will take in everyone on my word.”

“But where will _you_ go?”

“I’ll meet you there. I’ll send anyone from our class north, and I’ll head there myself when I can.”

“Promise me.” Sylvain brushed his fingers across Felix’s cheek, his lips; then pulled him down and pressed their foreheads together. “Promise me you’ll come home. Promise me I’ll see you again.”

Felix kissed him again, long and deep and slow. A thorough tasting, a welcome besiegement of his entire self. Sylvain rolled them over, surrounded Felix, kissed and touched and bit. He gasped his promises to the room as Sylvain pressed worship into his skin.

“I’ll come home. I promise.”

…

How was he to know of the messenger Rodrigue sent after receiving the Blue Lions? The messenger didn’t know why either, only that Lord Felix should take the northern road to Blaiddyd instead of the north-eastern one to Fraldarius; and should Master Fraldarius like to send a return letter?

“No. It’s… It’s fine. Was Sylvain there?”

“Master Gautier was, indeed, my lord.”

Felix turned his feet angrily to Fhirdiad. At least Sylvain was safe.

* * *

The heat of Aillel was stifling but required just as much discipline to fight in as the biting cold; and Felix was perfectly competent at fighting in the cold. The professor sent him and the Abyss rat to put down Gwendal fast. He’d initially thought that the rat—Yuri?—wouldn’t be able to keep up; but he wasn’t held back giving orders to a battalion, either, and so the two of them were able to advance and strike at Gwendal’s forces.

In the sky to the east, a lone fire spell was shot—a call for healing. Felix couldn’t hear over the dull roar of the battle if the professor had ordered a change of tactics due to the call. It normally didn’t affect him; but Yuri was his partner, and versed in faith magic. He gave the other man a glance and a questioning shrug.

Yuri shook his head, fixed his sword ahead, and continued the advance to Gwendal. Felix adjusted his grip and sidled up beside Yuri, who threw a blast of wind magic at a charging paladin; Felix followed through by cutting through the horse and knocking its rider to the ground. The paladin had been close to a cliff; the screams when he hit the lava below were piercing but cut off fast.

Finally, the traitor knight galloped into view. Yuri motioned for Felix to stand back, quickly said, “We have history,” and stepped forward to meet the man. Felix turned his own attention to the rest of the cavalry beginning to surround them. They indeed seemed to have _history_ , but it wasn’t enough to stop the fighting.

A rapid series of three fire spells shot into the sky, in the same direction the first call came from. _General Down_. Felix fought the instinct to let his stomach drop; the battle was to begin anew.

Felix brought his sword up to block a lance strike, swiftly turning his wrist in a counterattack that took the bladed end off the paladin’s lance. Another horseman charged, his lance already in position to stab through Felix’s chest; unless, of course, he dodged. Felix jumped and rolled on his shoulder. Behind him, the two horses collided, the lance going clear through the first horse’s neck. He picked himself up and, before the paladins could stand from the pile of horse and limbs, rid them both of their heads.

The monastery blacksmith had told him to stop doing it; that if he wanted to play at executioner, he should bring an axe. But an additional weapon would just weigh him down. He hadn’t _broken_ a sword yet.

Felix checked in with Yuri. He was closing Gwendal’s dead eyes and muttering a prayer. The House Rowe bannermen surrendered upon seeing Gwendal fall to the Abyss rat—and in time, too, for a Fraldarius heavy armor battalion to march in and secure the bannermen and the remaining forces. He remembered himself; focussed, and shot a few sparks of a thunder spell into the sky. A sign to the professor that the opposing general was dead.

He then stood to the side, let Yuri have his time to grieve. He seemed to need it.

The beating of wings in the air was unexpected, as was the tear-filled face of the pegasus knight closing in. Ingrid had hardly landed when she said to Felix, “Get on.” Felix spared Yuri a single glance, received a lazy wave and a muttered _go_ , and then climbed on the pegasus. He didn’t even settle before Ingrid kicked off and they began flying east—he gripped her waist hard and shifted in the saddle.

They touched down near his father and the Boar, discussing the value of the soldiers Fraldarius had provided. Ingrid pointed to the group huddled behind them, said, “Please hurry. We didn’t know where you were. The professor… They’re _trying_ , Felix.”

He jumped off the pegasus and ran. His father tried to say something as he passed, but Felix didn’t stop. He pulled Ashe out of the way and shouldered by Dorothea; he’ll apologise later.

“ _Sylvain, no_ ,” he fell to his knees, hovered his hands over a blood-spattered face; sobbed. Sylvain was braced in the professor’s arm and lap, one hand glowing bright with faith magic as they tried to heal him. Behind him, the ground was scattered with the remains of House Rowe’s soldiers.

“Ingrid was supposed to find Mercedes first,” the professor said after a while. “I’m sorry you have to see him like this.”

“You can save him?”

“I will exhaust every option, Felix.”

Sylvain’s eyes couldn’t stay open for more than a second and when they were open he was unfocussed. His stuttered breath was shallow, raspy. Felix pushed a gentle hand through Sylvain’s blood-soaked hair, ignoring what stains it was setting into his gloves. The wound in his abdomen was the problem, though. He’d lost so much blood already, and he was still bleeding through the healing light of the faith magic.

“Fe…,” Sylvain muttered. “Please… ‘lix.”

“I’m here,” Felix whimpered. He stroked Sylvain’s hairline, sniffed back tears. “I’m here, Sylvain. The professor’s going to heal you. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Sylvain grinned through bloody teeth; it looked like it took too much effort. He stopped with the next breath. “You’re here,” he sighed.

Felix leaned over and kissed his brow; he couldn’t care that everyone was watching anymore. Sylvain was— “Be quiet,” he muttered, “Save your words for when you’re healed.”

“Fe. I might— _ah_ —might be breaking our promise today.” Sylvain managed to get most of it out in one exhale, but then whined in pain while blood bubbled up out of his mouth. The professor’s faith magic grew brighter.

“Stop talking,” Felix cried. “Please. Hang on, Sylvain; Mercedes will be here to help soon.”

“Fe, no, don’t cry. Can’t do anything about you crying right now.”

“Sylvain, listen to Felix and stop talking,” the professor said. Their voice was beginning to sound strained.

Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Felix tugged his gloves off and thumbed the blood away. He wiped at his own face with his sleeve, sniffed hard.

“Fe, listen.”

“Shut up,” Felix said, fresh tears welling up. “You’re going to be fine, just shut up.”

“ _Felix_ , I love you.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” He shook the tears away, shut his eyes against the sting. “ _Shut up, shut up! You’re gonna be okay. You’ll be okay, Sylvain, You’ll be okay_ —”

…

Felix couldn’t go into the infirmary when they returned to the monastery. Or for the weeks following. Mercedes had almost been too late; as it was, the physical therapy required for Sylvain’s recovery was too much to watch. It would be a long time before he would have full range of motion back, especially in his back. He wouldn’t be able to ride for a moon or two—maybe longer.

Sylvain took it in stride. He began to focus entirely on reason and tactics.

Felix knew better. He’d broken another promise. Sylvain wasn’t okay.

* * *

He escaped the noise and heat of the party as soon as he could. Maybe the rest of his allies could frolic and drink, but Felix had already inherited the Shield and had duties scheduled for the morning. He breathed in the cool air of the courtyard, drank in the life of Garreg Mach one last time, and then headed to the stables. He’d barely stepped into the dirt when a voice called out from behind him.

“Leaving already?”

Felix didn’t stop walking. “Yes.”

Sylvain followed. He walked with a limp some days; not today. His footfalls were strong and even. “Felix.”

“What is it?”

“We haven’t spent any time together since Aillel,” Sylvain said.

“Good _bye_ , Sylvain,” Felix sighed, took two more steps.

“Is it because I said I loved you?”

Felix stopped. He tipped his head to the sky and took a slow breath. “No,” he murmured. And then he continued to the stall his mare was kept in.

“Felix, whatever I did, I’m sorry,” Sylvain said. He reached out, took Felix’s hands off of the horse as he was trying to saddle her. “Please, just tell me what I did so I can properly apologise for it. And then never do it again.”

Felix tugged on his hands. “Let me go,” he growled.

Sylvain bit his lip, looked away; but dropped their hands. “ _Please_ , Fe?”

He put his hands in his hair, groaned in frustration, and said, “It wasn’t _you_ , Sylvain. You were—” _Perfect_ — “Argh! I just couldn’t, okay?”

“Couldn’t _what_?” His voice was high, loud; Sylvain was getting frustrated, too.

“I couldn’t make a promise and keep it!” The horse snorted beside them and stomped at the ground. Felix shouldered by Sylvain back out into the night, remembering all of the times he’d failed the one person who’d never failed him.

Sylvain stayed quiet, for once. He was probably remembering all of Felix’s failures as well. Felix couldn’t look back at him; couldn’t bear to look anywhere but at the stars.

“Every time I make a promise to you,” Felix continued, “I break it. And so many times, those broken promises are related to you getting hurt.” He shook his head, said, “Never again. No more promises. I can’t… I _won’t_ see you hurt because of a promise I made.”

The wind blew through the stables, kicked up dirt and leaves and swirled them around the empty space between the two of them. He felt those damn tears start to sting in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his wrist before they could fall.

This time, Sylvain’s footfalls were soft; like he was sneaking up on a cat. “You haven’t broken our promise to stay together,” he said. “Not, at least, unless you leave.”

Felix clenched his fists at his sides. He growled Sylvain’s name like it could scare the redhead away.

“I think I know what the problem is,” Sylvain continued. “You’re trying to make promises without getting anything in return.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice, like he had a corner he was going to back Felix into and have fun doing it. “Fe, I don’t want you to make promises _for_ me.”

“What—?” He turned around.

Mistake. Sylvain was too close. He wrapped Felix up in his arms, and continued, “I want you to make promises _with_ me.”

Felix pushed feebly against Sylvain’s chest. “I don’t—”

“Felix, hear me out, okay? I still love you, have always loved you— _will_ always love you. You’re my life, Fe, for the rest of my life.”

“ _Stop_.”

“If you mean it, sure,” Sylvain shrugged with a grin.

Felix stopped struggling.

Sylvain leaned in and kissed Felix’s brow, and said, “Do you still love me too?”

“Sylvain…”

“Do you?”

“I never stopped,” Felix whispered.

“If you promise to love me, stay with me, keep me, until the day we finally die together, I’ll promise to do the same.” Sylvain brushed Felix’s nose with his own, tipped his chin up with a finger. “Can we do that?”

“I…” Felix groaned, dove both hands into Sylvain’s hair and gripped. He said, “Careful, that sounds like a proposal.”

Sylvain’s grin was mischievous and wide. “So it does,” he admitted.

“You would—?”

“Let me marry you,” Sylvain breathed against Felix’s lips. They were so close, sharing breaths, nearly kissing with every spoken word. “Please, Fe. There’s no one else I could ever—”

“ _Yes_.” Felix slipped their lips together in a proper kiss. “Promise me. Love me, stay with me—”

“Keep me, _marry me, Felix,_ I promise—”

“Until the day we die together,” Felix finished, drawing Sylvain down by his hair to kiss him senseless again; “I promise.”


End file.
